


Make Some Noise

by Arhtea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood Quill (Harry Potter), Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 19:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16604393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arhtea/pseuds/Arhtea
Summary: Tracey Davis sees her friend getting hurt by Umbridge and decides that someone has to put a stop to it.





	Make Some Noise

“Show me your hand!”

Hannah hid her hand behind her back and Tracey rolled her eyes. “Come on, show it to me!”

“It’s nothing,” Hannah insisted, her cheeks flushed.

“If it’s nothing, then show me.”

“Just leave it, please!” Hannah took a step back.

Tracey frowned and sat up from the floor of the Astronomy Tower, where they were stargazing. She stared at her Hufflepuff friend for a few seconds. “Hannah, something has been wrong for a while now. Show me your hand. 

Hannah bit her lip and shook her head. “Please just leave it, alright? It’s nothing. I can take care of it.”

“I’m concerned about you. Tell me what is wrong.”

“No!” Hannah moved back. Tracey turned, then suddenly lunged for her friend’s hand. Hannah tried to pull away but Tracey’s fingers hooked around the bandage and ripped it off. “Get off me, dammit!” Hannah yelled and shoved Tracey back hard.

She didn’t have to make much of an effort. Tracey was completely stunned as she stared at the wound on Hannah’s hand. In her friend’s own handwriting she saw the words “I will not talk back to my betters” cut into Hannah’s skin.

“Son of a motherless goat! Who the hell did this to you?”

“Me, I did this to myself, okay? Are you happy now?” Hannah snapped.

“Oh yeah, I’m ecstatic. Hannah, please, tell me: what the hell is this?”

Hannah shook her head. “Oh I forgot; of course you wouldn’t know. She doesn’t touch Slytherins. ‘Cause Slytherins are important pure-bloods. She’d never dare hurt them!” She rubbed her temples and Tracey saw a tear roll down her cheek.

She bit her lip trying very hard not to take her friend’s bait. “Hannah, you know I’m a half-blood, just like you. Let’s not fight about that. We’ve never had to before.” She reached out and brushed the tear away from Hannah’s face. “Come on, darling, just tell me what the bitch did.”

* * *

 “I’m going to fucking kill her!” Tracey declared as she paced back and forth in the Slytherin common room. “I’m going to kill her, I am going to cut her into little pieces, I’m going to mail the pieces to a hungry werewolf and then I’ll—”

“We get it, Davis. You’re angry. Now sit down before you wear a hole into the carpet,” stated Leonard Birch, a sixth, dryly.

Tracey glared at him, then flopped into an empty chair.. “I still want to—”

“Fucking kill her, we get it. But might I point out that murdering a professor might not be the most reasonable course of action?” asked Sarah Shafiq, a seventh year.

“She is using a Blood Quill on students. She isn’t just torturing them. She is forcing them to torture _themselves_.”

“And your pet Hufflepuff got hurt,” Leonard supplied. Zoe Accrington hit him in the shin with her well-polished shoe.

“She’s not her pet Hufflepuff. She’s her friend. Which you’d understand if you were enough of a human to grasp the concept of friendship.”

Tracey sent Zoe a grateful smile. It seemed at Hogwarts it was always something and if it wasn’t Muggle-borns versus pure-bloods, it was houses against other houses. If she hadn’t known Hannah before Hogwarts, their friendship might never have lasted. As it stood, her Slytherin friends now finally understood it, but they still occasionally made snide comments about it.

“It’s not just about Hannah. This bitch uses it on everyone. On first years.”

Sarah Shafiq, the only pure-blood and therefore the only one with a clear understanding of what a Blood Quill represented, sucked in air through her teeth. “I could write to my father. He is on the Board of Governors.”

“I’m not sure that’ll work. It would have to be someone coming forward who was actually subjected to it. Someone brave enough, and possibly stupid enough, to complain about the Under Secretary to the Minister for Magic,” Zoe began hesitantly.

Leonard nodded. “I hate to say it, but I think she’s right. I mean,” he leaned closer and lowered his voice to a whisper, “we have to keep in mind that Dumbledore probably knows all about this. There’s no way McGonagall would let her precious Gryffindors get hurt like that and not tell the Headmaster. And if he knows and Umbridge is still doing it, then that means he can’t stop it.” He shrugged. “If Dumbledore can’t stop it, I’m not sure the Governors can either. Not without a loud mess that would force the hand of the Minister for Magic himself.”

“What did you say?” Tracey looked up, her lips curving into a small smile.

Leonard looked confused. “I said that Dumbledore knows and hasn’t done anything,”

“No, you said ‘loud mess.’ The only way we can force Fudge to do anything is to create enough noise he can’t ignore.” She stood up. “So let’s do just that. Let’s make a scandal.”

“But how?” Sarah asked, “you said according to Hannah none of the students were willing to come forward!”

Tracey tapped the side of her nose conspiratorially. “ _Consilio et prudentia_.”

“And that means?” Leonard asked, one eyebrow arched.

“Sneaky is best.” Tracey smiled and turned to her friends. “It means if we don’t have a perfect victim, then we shall create one ourselves.”

“She’s not going to use a Blood Quill on any of the Slytherins,” Zoe argued. “She thinks Professor Snape would murder her in her sleep for that.”

“Indeed. Isn’t it great to have a former Death Eater as a Head of House?” Leonard chimed in. “He doesn’t need to so much as lift a finger, everyone already knows better than to mess with him.”

Tracey shook her head. “All we need is for me to get a detention and for…” she turned to Sarah, “you to get us our very own Blood Quill!”

Now it was Sarah’s time to arch an eyebrow. “Oh sure, cause I am the big bad pure-blood, I must know where to get a Blood Quill. Obviously.”

Leonard snorted. “Are you saying you don’t?”

Sarah replied with a huff. “You’ll have it in a couple of days.”

* * *

 When Tracey started looking, she realized there were far more people with Blood Quill injuries than she originally thought. It made her blood boil as she saw a couple of first years with bandages. Another few days later, McGonagall actually confronted Umbridge. As Zoe had predicted, nothing happened. Umbridge didn’t even back off for a single day. It seemed Albus Dumbledore was, for the moment, powerless to help.

In the meantime, Hannah had another couple of nights of detention and Tracey was on the very verge of storming in and trying to strangle Umbridge as she waited outside for her friend. When Hannah came out, her hand freshly bleeding and cut up, Tracey bandaged it and swore bloody vengeance again and again.

By the end of the week, Sarah had managed to write to her older brother who in turn had taken a Blood Quill from their family vault. It was an old relic, only ever used to sign completely binding contracts that demanded a drop of blood to invoke the old magic, but it was still in perfect condition. Tracey tried out a small scratch, then tucked the quill between her things, away from other prying eyes.

* * *

 She had to set Pansy’s robes on fire to actually get assigned detention. Pansy went to Umbridge, of course, screaming in hysterics, that in Tracey’s opinion were completely unwarranted. But at least, since the victim was a Parkinson, Tracey finally got Umbridge’s full attention.

She was told to appear for detention and given lines to write. Lines with a regular quill about behaving in class and not causing injury to other students. She wrote them down neatly and tried to look properly chastised before scurrying off to meet her friends.

Sarah held her other hand as she brought down the Blood Quill and began carving a different message. Leonard and Zoe offered moral support. She had to stop when the pain felt almost unbearable but continued on a few moments later so the words would be clear, readable and not gone by morning. Every time she looked down at her hand and thought it was too much, she imagined Hannah’s hand and found more determination.

After she was done, Leonard carefully tucked the parchments under his robes and slinked out of the Room of Requirement.  Zoe snapped a picture of Tracey’s hand and Sarah cleaned and bandaged it but not added anything that would accelerate the healing. Then they slipped into the owlery before heading back to the dorms.

* * *

It happened earlier than Tracey had anticipated. More specifically at dinner the next evening. Tracey’s owl had returned without a reply and she wasn’t sure how to react so she used the quill once more in the morning to make sure that the message had sunk in before going to class.

Tracey was about half-way through her rice and chicken when the owls arrived with a special edition of the Prophet. Leonard snatched a copy for them and smoothed it on the table. Tracey’s hand had got a photo on the first page. Around them, the hall was erupting in chatter and from the corner of her eye, Tracey saw Umbridge turn pale and cough. _Good, maybe the bitch will choke on her pumpkin juice!_ She smirked, looking at the words she’d carved into her own skin.

_I will obey the Minister for Magic._

They had also added copies of the parchment Leonard had mailed them on the second page. The article itself wasn’t that inflammatory but the pictures spoke for themselves. Tracey shook her head. “How did you do it?” she asked quietly.

Sarah shrugged. “The reporter owes Father a favor. He slipped it in a special edition before the editor could pull it.  I just hope they don’t fire him for this.”

“No, they won’t. Not if the storm is loud enough,” Leonard replied for Tracey. “Or the next storm will be about Fudgy going against free journalism.” He tapped the photograph. “Do you think we chose a good enough message—”

The double doors were pushed open sharply and all eyes in the hall turned. Richard Davis was a tall and rather large man in his late fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a single greyish eye. The other eye was covered with a black patch and he walked using a black cane, giving the old lawyer rather the appearance of a deranged pirate. Tracey’s heart leapt seeing her grandfather at the door, one good eye flashing with fury. It seemed he had remembered the way to Hogwarts. Luckily, the Muggle had put an ultimatum to Professor McGonagall years ago. If his grandchild was to go to a magic school, he was going to know where, and they were going to figure out a way for him to be able to come and see the place beforehand and, if needed, during her studies. The older man was followed by a younger, about thirtyish man, his ever loyal assistant who sent Tracey a smile and a wink. She bit her lip and glanced down at her hand.

The old man walked straight up to the Slytherin table. “Please show me your hand, Tracey,” he asked softly and Tracey gulped softly trying to keep herself calm.

She bit her lip, tried to appear hesitant for a moment and then held out her good hand. Her grandfather arched an eyebrow and held his gaze until Tracey lowered her right hand and raised the bandaged one. Richard Davis undid the cloth gently and on his face flashed fury as he saw the wounds. Tracey felt another stab of warmth as the man turned towards the professors’ table.

“Headmaster, when your Deputy came to invite my grandchild into this world of yours, I was assured she’d be safe in your school.” He took a step closer to the table, the cane clattered on the stones.

“Having words carved into her skin is not what I call safe. Having government propaganda carved into her skin is not an education.” His voice was deceptively soft as he approached.

Tracey’s eyes roamed across the row of professors. Dumbledore looked apologetic. McGonagall seemed horrified. Snape turned his head to glare straight at Tracey. He narrowed his eyes and Tracey tried to hold his gaze and not back down. Then he turned away and she exhaled.

Richard Davis was almost face-to-face with the headmaster. “Who,” he demanded. “did this to my little girl?”

Dolores Umbridge coughed and Tracey saw that to her great disappointment, she had not choked on her pumpkin juice. She had in fact managed to gather herself and looked almost calm. “Your granddaughter had detention with me last evening but I didn’t do this to her. I had her write regular lines,” she stated.

The man arched an eyebrow. “Then how did this happen? Or is that, in fact, what you call regular lines?”

“No. I had her write that she mustn’t misbehave in class after an incident with Miss Parkinson.”

Pansy opened her mouth to corroborate and Zoe quickly slapped a hand over it. Snape glared at them and Tracey swallowed. Of course, the man would know something was fishy but he wouldn’t sell them out, would he? Not for Umbridge. He just couldn’t..

“Look, I’m telling you, she had a regular detention. This is a fabrication and a lie!” Umbridge declared.

“So you’re calling my granddaughter a liar now?” demanded Davis and Tracey smirked inwardly. She had never been much for breaking the rules and that meant her grandfather would not believe it of her either.

Umbridge’s self-preservation instinct had not kicked in. She was, after all, facing a mere Muggle. “I used the Blood Quill on other students but not your granddaughter. If she says that, then yes, she is lying.”

Tracey had to actually bite down on her bottom lip to stop herself from grinning like the Cheshire cat. Umbridge had just about dug her own grave and she had a front row seat to the execution.

“Oh? So you didn’t use it on _my_ granddaughter but you did use it on _other_ students?” Davis was now face-to-face with Umbridge and his expression was murderous. The fingers holding on to the cane were clenched so tight, they had nearly lost all blood.

Umbridge went for her wand. Davis’s companion was faster. He had grabbed a knife from some poor Ravenclaw’s plate and threw it now with perfect precision so it nailed Umbridge’s sleeve to the table.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” he added and Umbridge pulled back the hand that had been reaching for her wand, her face pale and the reality dawning on her that no one was coming to help her.

For a second Tracey wondered why none of the faculty intervened but then noticed the small smirks on several faces and even McGonagall seemed quite torn between saying something to the pair of Muggles who looked about ready to tear Umbridge into thin strips and leaning back to enjoy the show.

To Tracey’s disappointment before her grandfather could really do that, either literally or figuratively, someone else burst into the Great Hall. Cornelius Fudge looked disheveled and angry. He strode forward, likely to speak with Umbridge when he saw the two Muggles and stopped.

“Minister, help!” exclaimed Umbridge, evidently hoping that the cavalry had arrived for her.

“What is going on here?” Fudge demanded, from no one in particular.

Davis turned around, his expression still furious. “Ah, might you be the minister in question, who my granddaughter should obey?” he spat out and even Fudge paled.

He seemed to assess his options quickly and then turned to Umbridge. “What is going on? Why are there rumours flying about that you’ve used the Blood Quill on children?”

“Minister, I—” Umbridge looked around pleadingly and found no one who’d help her. In fact, several students seemed to have had to shove their hands over their mouths to contain their glee. “—I swear I didn’t have her do that! They made it up. Sent false photos to the newspapers—”

Tracey inhaled and stood up trying her very best to look terrified and sad, a considerable feat as she felt inside like dancing of happiness. “She’s the one who’s lying!” She shook her head and blinked as a tear rolled down her cheek, courtesy of a raw onion supplied by Leonard. “She had me write those things. I’m sorry I sent it to the papers. I just...I just didn’t want her to make me do it again.” She dabbed at her right eye with a finger she’d been rubbing on the onion. “I...I swiped one of the pages but the rest are still in her office. Please, Minister, I’ll behave. Just don’t make me do it again.”

* * *

Tracey’s grandfather had demanded Umbridge’s office to be searched. The pages had been exactly where Leonard had left them. They’d found other pages as well, written with the blood of other students. Davis had raised hell and swore to tell each and every one of the parents. He had declared he’d sue the school and even Fudge himself if Umbridge was not removed that very night. When the howlers arrived, some from parents outraged after reading the Daily Prophet, some carefully forged by Leonard and Zoe the day before, but bearing rather influential names, just in case anyone decided to try and obliviate the trouble-causing Muggles, Cornelius Fudge caved under the pressure.

Tracey took a sip of butterbeer as she stared at the stars. Seeing Umbridge get shackled and led away by Aurors was better than Christmas. She’d never set foot in the school again, she was utterly humiliated, and an official trial was set to be held. Under the night sky, Tracey drifted into peaceful sleep and dreams of her former Defense professor banging on the bars at Azkaban, terrified as Dementors sucked out her happiness and hearing the crazed voices of murderers and Death Eaters from adjoining cells.

 

 


End file.
